Dr Hooper's Day Off
by catsinhats
Summary: [Previously 'Molly I Need You'] Based off of a Sherlolly prompt. "Molly has to dress up for a case." Rated K because I am paranoid. Molly Hooper decides to take a day off, and finds herself assisting Sherlock Holmes for a case. {DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Sherlock, no matter how much I wish I did}
1. I

Dr. Hooper's Day Off

Sherlolly Prompt: Molly has to dress up for a case (?)  
[Time Frame: After The Hound of Baskervilles, but before The Reichenbach Fall. All feedback is appreciated (in fact wanted-criticise my work, guys!)]

I

It was raining lightly on the streets of London, and Molly Hooper struggled with her umbrella, trying to get it open before she was soaked to the bone. Ducking into a grocery shop, she took a few deep breaths and finally managed to open the umbrella. She could imagine her mother's immediate prompt when she had done this once in their home; '_Opening an umbrella inside is bad luck, Molly!_'  
But she didn't care much about that; she was in a hurry and needed to feed Toby as soon as possible.  
It was one of the few off days Molly took from the morgue and she wanted to spend it in peace with her telly on and some hot coffee [maybe with a dash of vodka; who knows?] and the umbrella had just been obstructing her from reaching the Tube on time.  
Before she could step out of the store, her phone pinged in her overcoat pocket. She hoped that there wasn't a rush case at the morgue; not that she would decline the help, of course, but she was really looking forward to her day off.

The screen flashed 'One new Message!' and she unlocked the phone, navigating to the inbox.  
_Come to Baker Street, NOW. –SH_

Molly stared dumbfounded at the screen. Baker Street? Usually whenever Sherlock needed her he would come down to the morgue. Of course, he usually did need her when he wanted access to a body, regardless he had never really called her over to Baker Street. She was puzzled and by the time she could gather her thoughts and leave the store, her phone pinged again._  
It's urgent. –SH._

She sighed and called up Marie, her next door neighbour, requesting her to feed Toby. Marie had the spare key so it wasn't a problem on that sphere. Molly scolded herself all the way while walking to Baker Street, on how she shouldn't just give everything up and abandon her plans just because _he _wanted her presence. Her wild imagination brought up images of her and Sherlock, alone in his apartment, and she abandoned that thought immediately from her mind. If Sherlock was merely bored and wanted a companion, he would have doubtlessly called John, even if John was busy on a date. On more than one occasions the consulting detective had also followed John to his dates, disrupting them once and for all. It was probably some whim he was on or, worse, some bloody experiment he wanted to test and John was unwilling to volunteer. Molly knew she should've just said no and gone home, but that was a possibility only in an alternate universe. Molly knew she can never say no; meeting the man in a surrounding outside of Barts was a possibility she wasn't going to miss out on.

"What took you so long?" Molly looked at the long, lithe figure lying on the sofa while his flatmate sat on a desk chair, typing something on his laptop; probably their latest escapade.  
"Oh hello Molly, welcome to the flat." John looked up from the laptop and smiled, before gesturing to an armchair. "Sit down, and sorry for the awful mess." Molly giggled, before controlling herself and settling in the arm chair.  
"Ha-ha, pleasantries, now can we get to the business at hand?" Sherlock spoke, deadpanned, from the couch before getting up and looking at Molly intensely, "I need you, Molly Hooper."  
"W-what? I mean, um," Molly flushed a bright red before gulping loudly. She could hear John laughing softly, hiding behind the laptop screen while Sherlock looked puzzled.  
"Molly I need you to go undercover for me. Well, not just for me, it's a case Scotland Yard couldn't handle, _obviously..._" Sherlock continued in his trademark breakneck speed as he gave her a summary of the entire rather baffling case. Baffling to the common person, that is, Sherlock had already devised most of the important clues that eventually led to the perpetrator. But Molly's mind was still reeling and she couldn't bring herself to concentrate properly on his words.  
"_Molly, I need you._" And she had felt her heart rip out of her chest, before thumping loudly in her ears and her body flushed as she imagined the various scenarios she had always dreamt of [_fantasized, her mind corrected her_] coming to life. John was momentarily forgotten as she immersed herself, only to be brought back to reality by Sherlock's loud and lively declaration- "The game, Molly, is on!" before he tapped her on the shoulder and beckoned her to get up. He had already donned his scarf and Belstaff [_and my God, was he fast!_] and she saw John putting on a jacket. She got up wearily and followed him out of the flat, with John right beside her.

Sherlock was excited; anybody within a ten mile radius could figure that out. On their way downstairs, Molly inquired about the case that had been discussed and John gave a short synopsis. A Californian drug cartel boss had been spotted with a British MP in an elite club located in central London. Photographs had emerged which had eventually made its way to Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder brother. Before the matter could be sorted out the drug lord had been found dead in his hotel penthouse and the MP was incriminated, along with photographs regarding their late night escapades. The MP claimed that he was in a drug induced state and that the drug lord had probably spiked his drink to accompany him and then got someone to take the photographs. However, the drug lord's murder seemed murky, since none of the rival cartels had had any plans to get him assassinated, as Mycroft's internal sources had informed him. Therefore Mycroft had contacted Sherlock, who had visited the crime scene and found the crime to be at least a seven. But what was Molly doing with them?

"Oh, you're Sherlock's cover." John replied and, seeing her extremely baffled face, gave her a sceptical look. "Are you testing me or did you really not hear anything Sherlock said?"  
"I'm sorry, he tends to speak so fast and I was, um, distracted a bit. Sorry." she said sheepishly. John sighed.  
"Well, you will be posing as Sherlock's escort when he will get into the club where the drug lord was last spotted. He is trying to retrace the drug lord's steps and also the MP's. He claims he knows who it is and the person will be there at the club tonight. Don't ask me why. Anyway, you are to dress up and meet him in front of Claridge's at seven p.m. tonight, dressed up."  
"Just try not to look ridiculous and over-made." Sherlock said in a subdued voice; obviously occupied with his thoughts. "We don't want it to be like the last time."  
"Wait, why can't you go with John? Can't he be your cover?" Molly asked, and she heard John sigh loudly.  
"Molly, you don't think─"  
"I asked John but he refused. Don't know why, it would've been easier than trying to recruit you." Sherlock replied before hailing a taxi. He got in, beckoning John to get inside before speeding away. Molly stood alone on the pavement outside of 221 B, Baker Street, and his last words reverberating around her. She felt a terrible feeling in her stomach and her throat and realized that she was about to cry, but she wouldn't allow that to happen. She couldn't allow herself to cry because of Sherlock Holmes again.

He was right of course; she was ridiculously dressed in the Christmas party, in her skin-tight dress and the bow she had finished making that afternoon, and curling her hair and putting on lipstick. She felt pretty, like people could actually see her, and she loved it. Looking at herself in the mirror she had congratulated herself on a job well done, or apparently well done. She had wrapped the gifts, making sure _his _gift was wrapped carefully. She didn't know what she wanted to achieve that night; she just wanted to be pretty for him, to make him happy, even if he smiles because of her gift. In her heart of hearts, she knew that it was next to impossible; he was just too stone cold for it. Yet, she was in a good mood that day; she was happy and dressed up and she believed in herself.

And then she arrived at the party, and everyone stared at her. Greg couldn't even keep his eyes off of her and she felt herself swell with pride at a work well done. John looked embarrassed and yet appreciative of the dress, and so did Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock hadn't looked up from the laptop yet and her stomach had been in knots as to how he would respond. His response broker her to pieces; little shards of glass that shattered when he finished speaking. His face looked shocked and he apologized, kissed her even, but it could never compensate. It almost did, before _that woman _from the morgue came into the picture, but she could never forget his words, like acid, repeating and re-repeating in her head over and over again.

She tried to distract herself while walking home. It was a long distance but she had some time to kill. She called up Marie, and asked her for a favour. If she needed to go undercover, she might as well use some additional help.


	2. II

II

Molly sat on a swivel chair, her hair tied in a tight bun, her face devoid of any make up. Her neighbour, Marie, loomed over her with a thick makeup brush poised over her cheekbones. She looked at Molly with half-lidded eyes before dabbing the brush in some rouge and brushing Molly's cheekbones with it.  
"Marie! Light makeup, remember? I have to keep it casual." Molly managed to cough out while Marie fidgeted about with the makeup.  
"Relax Molly, I know you want to remain casual, but the rouge will help in making your cheekbones look distinctive." Marie replied, before reaching over to her makeup table and grabbing some eye-makeup. Molly sighed and was chastised almost immediately. She didn't know so much makeup was required to look 'natural'.

After a couple of fights and extensive use of the makeup remover, Molly managed to get into the simple, royal blue coloured sun-dress she had borrowed from Marie. Her eyes were lightly shaded and her cheeks had a pinkish hue about them, and apart from some minimalistic lipstick, she had stopped Marie from applying anything else on her face. She looked decent enough to gain entry into an elite club, and yet not overdone. _Damnit, why couldn't I have gone like this to that damned Christmas party? _She shook her head at the thought; she knew why she had [over]dressed herself like that. She wanted to make an impression, garner _some _reaction out of the usually stone cold detective. She had gotten a reaction alright.  
Molly often tried not to think about that party, but it seemed to be more and more impossible to do so. She found herself revisiting that party many times in the dead of the night, lying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, mostly almost drunk out of her wits. She had tried so hard so suppress it to the darkest recesses of her mind; however it crept up to her, always reminding her of her subsequent mortification and embarrassment. However, she knew it was futile to keep revisiting the past and that sometimes we need to move on. She acknowledged the fact and waited in her room, Tobias looking at her as she anxiously paced the room, then sat still, before getting up and pacing the room yet again. Sherlock had instructed her to wait in her apartment, and that he would send a taxi for her to take her to Claridge's, even though she had stated that she would rather walk. And as the minutes ticked by, the waiting did nothing more than make her even more anxious about the task at hand. Why couldn't have John just said yes and pretended for just one night, instead of dragging her into this thing. Heavens knew she wasn't at all ready for anything concerning Sherlock or his clients. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and walked past her bedroom, before stopping in front of the mirror.

Marie had helped her curl her hair so that it fell in soft curls around her face. She was wearing a pair of pearl teardrop earrings, something she had bought a few months ago when she felt like indulging herself but had not gotten an opportunity to wear. She was wearing a pair of sandals that were neither too ridiculously high nor simple flats-they were just right. She felt right; as though the pieces of a puzzle had finally come together and just _fit, _in every way possible. She checked herself; when had she started to become so vain and admiring herself in the mirror? And yet, was admiring herself such a crime? After all she did have a right to feel wonderful about herself, there were rare opportunities she actually did do that. Before she could contemplate on that more, however, her phone dinged. She took it out of a tiny handbag she was carrying for today, and saw a text message waiting for her.  
_A taxi is waiting outside. Get in.-SH_

The taxi halted in front of Claridge's and Molly stepped out, careful not to step on the hem of the dress accidently. That would've been the icing on top of the cake; to not only ruin the dress by stepping on it and possibly ripping it, but also tripping in front of the elite London crowd near the hotel. It looked as though there was a big event being organised, that's when Molly remembered that there was a charity event being organised by one of the many aristocratic families in London, and anyone who was prominent in the London society would be there. Molly was more nervous than she had been during her job interview. She could feel a few drops of sweat forming on the top of her forehead and wondered how that was possible in the chilled weather. Her nervousness was acting up badly and she needed to calm down. _What would he think? Will he like the dress? The makeup? Or will he be just as nasty as he was when she had tried the last time? _Molly banished any such thoughts from her head. She was here for a case and she would be completely professional about it. She was helping out a friend [_or so she hoped_] and she would completely focus on that.

Molly took in a shaky breath and adjusted the breezy hem of the dress, before grabbing her clutch and walking swiftly towards the pavement in front of the hotel. She saw John's back and started to walk towards it, when she saw Greg looking towards her. He didn't seem to recognize her as she saw his gaze go from her face to her sandals, and his mouth fell open. John, who had been talking to a man with a suit and an umbrella, turned and looked at her himself, his eyes going wide and his posture becoming stiff. The man with the umbrella, who had started to look a little annoyed, looked at her and smiled appreciatively. Molly felt flustered and hurried to the group, standing next to John and smiling softly at the men staring at her. But where was Sherlock?

"He'll be here shortly." John replied after some time, not removing his eyes from her face; or rather, her body. "Wow, Molly, you look...You look absolutely lovely." He smiled softly and she smiled back, feeling her cheeks warm up.  
"Yes, Dr. Hooper cleans up pretty well." The man with the umbrella spoke up who, as Molly was informed later, was _the _Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock had talked about this elusive elder brother of his but whenever she had tried to ask any questions, he had brushed her off and so she had stopped. She looked at the man and while he seemed harmless, she knew he was the British Government, and she found herself wondering how it felt like to own and know that you have such power in your hands. All this time Greg had said nothing, merely staring at her with a dumbfounded expression. John shook his shoulder and he snapped out of his expression, before smiling goofily at her. She smiled back at him, and he stepped forward. Before he could say anything, however, she saw Sherlock get out of a taxi and stride towards them. She felt herself freeze as she took in what he was wearing; his trademark Belstaff and his scarf; but underneath the scarf she saw the remnants of a wine purple shirt that clung to his chest [_just the way she liked it_] and her heart sped out of control. He just _had _to wear the purple shirt of death tonight, when she was already so flustered from the attention she had been getting from the general male population around her, and for some reason her hormones were all out of control.  
He strode to them and went past her muttering a low 'Pardon me, ma'am' and walking straight to where John was standing, not very far from where she was.  
"John, where _is _Molly? She should've been here by now."  
"Um, Sherlock, you just went by her."  
'Went by her? What are you even...?" And his voice trailed away as he turned, swiftly, and looked at her.

Molly knew she looked like a ripe tomato in a blue coloured cocktail dress, as she stood there beside Greg Lestrade [who _still _hadn't stopped looking at her] and staring right in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.  
There are only a few times Sherlock Holmes is out of words. One of those times had been when he had been with The Woman and she had appeared in her 'battle dress' to talk to him. And this was another time he was rendered speechless, and for Molly this was the first time she had seen him like this. He blinked once, then twice, and yet once again before clearing his throat and turning to John. John smiled at Sherlock smugly and laughed a bit at his puzzled expression.  
"Well? Don't you think she did a good job, Sherlock?" John asked Sherlock, beginning to laugh louder at the way Sherlock was looking at him.  
"Yes, Sherlock, Dr. Hooper looks absolutely wonderful tonight." Mycroft chimed in and gave a small smile to the flustered pathologist, before checking his watch for the umpteenth time.  
"Well I can't keep standing around, I have some binding things to attend to. Now, brother of mine," he smiled at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and promptly looked the other way "As I was saying, Sherlock, you have to behave yourself. It is with quite difficulty that I was able to arrange an invite for you, therefore behave."  
"Oh don't worry Mycroft; I won't slander your name in the process of solving a murder _and _saving a British MP from unnecessary slander." Sherlock ran a hand through his curls and started to walk towards the club entrance. Mycroft looked at Molly and the other men sheepishly before leaving, and Molly found herself adjusting the dress and realizing that Sherlock was nowhere around.  
"John, where is Sherlock? Isn't he supposed to, um, escort me?" She asked and John sighed.  
"I don't know Molly, he disappeared in the crowd. Let me go and look for him. You stay right here, Lestrade stay with Molly." John said and went into the crowd, and his form was gradually swallowed by the crowd teeming towards the club entrance.

"So, why are you here Greg?" she turned to the inspector and he smiled.  
"It is my investigation, to be honest. So I have to be here. The Yard's men are stationed in different positions around the club and the street; all I need to do is give one command and the culprit will be caught without any obstacles." Greg smiled and patted the walkie-talkie in his coat pocket.  
"Oh that's nice, very nice."  
"If this weren't an investigation I would've escorted you myself, but you know," He nodded slightly, smiling good-naturedly at her "someone has to stay back to do the groundwork. I did say that Sherlock could stay back and instruct me and I could go in, but he was insistent and well, he is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade sighed.  
"I know, you cannot argue with him." Molly looked down on the ground herself before feeling a warm hand on her lower back. She saw Greg smiling at her kindly, and she smiled back just the same. At least for tonight she could enjoy the attention she was getting and not over think about it.  
"If you would've gone in Lestrade the operation would've been a bust." A deep, reverberating voice spoke up from behind them. Molly and Greg turned, to see Sherlock standing behind them. He was holding a tiny package in his hands and his eyes were fixed on Greg.  
"These people can recognize a Scotland Yard man from afar, chances are they might've already spotted you so you should go now Graham, unless you want to cancel this investigation,. Besides, its not like you are dressed for the occasion." Sherlock's eyes swept over Greg's work clothes and Molly felt Greg's shoulders droop a bit, before he stepped away from her.  
"Right-o. Well, I'll um, I'll go to the surveillance van. Well, you know what to do." Lestrade nodded before walking away from them.

Sherlock took Molly's hand and escorted her to the club entrance. He stepped forward and talked to the bellman and the various guards, who promptly let them in. He took off his Belstaff and scarf, depositing it in the coat counter before offering her his arm. She held his arm and gulped. Molly didn't know what to expect, and being this close to Sherlock was wreaking havoc with her heart.  
She just hoped she would be able to play her part well. He looked down at her and she composed herself, before smiling up at Sherlock. He smiled back, much to her surprise, before they started walking to the ballroom.  
"The game, Molly, is on!" Sherlock said, in a low voice, before entering the ballroom, Molly at his side.


	3. III

III

"I didn't see John come back. Where is he?" Molly asked Sherlock, while he was scanning the crowd, his eyes narrowing, and his brain working overtime. Molly could recognize that look from the many times he had been concentrating  
"He will be co-ordinating with Lestrade."  
"Right." she nodded, while looking around her. She felt horribly under dressed, the way some of the women were dressed up and were flaunting their expensive jewellery. That's when she understood why Sherlock had specified her to go plain-ish [_other than the explanation her mind kept reminding her of_]. She could easily blend in the crowd and not attract attention to herself, nor to Sherlock. And yet she could act as a perfect cover for his reason to be there.

However, she found herself at the centre of attention of a couple of young men, when Sherlock had asked her to stay near the bar while he went to talk to a General. She had insisted on accompanying him but one stern look and she had found herself sitting alone at the bar. Before those two men barged in.  
"Hello beautiful, what are you doing in a dreary event like this?" One of them, a red-haired man, asked her while motioning for the bartender to come their side.  
"Fancy a drink?" The other man asked sitting on the bar stool right beside her and winking at her.  
"No, thank you. I'm here with someone." Molly said firmly, before attempting to get off the stool.  
"No darling, what's the hurry? Sit down, let's talk." The red haired man caught her wrist before she could leave.  
"Yeah, if you're with _someone _why isn't he or she here with you? I don't think they'd have gone to the loo for so long!" His companion chuckled. Molly found herself surrounded by the two men. She knew they were powerful men, or at least related to powerful men, who thought they ruled the world just because they had the power in their hands. And she didn't know anybody around them. She tried to look for Sherlock but she couldn't see him anywhere around. She felt a hand grab her hand and she stepped away, looking at the red haired man.  
"I suggest you leave, before you get hurt." Molly never really spoke up much, but she was furious. Who did he think he was, going around and grabbing her hand whenever he wanted? By that time the bartender had managed to call a bouncer who shooed the men away. She could still see them eyeing her from a distance and she felt horribly uncomfortable. If all Sherlock needed her for was to gain entry, couldn't she leave now? Molly felt all energy drain from her body, and the adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins slowly dissipated. She had thought of those espionage and spy movies, and how the female would play an extremely important role in helping the main hero find the culprit. She used to imagine what it would feel like to be the heroine of the hour and before they had entered the club she had thought that this would be what the case would be like. But she knew Sherlock was co-ordinating with Lestrade and John and possibly Mycroft, so it was not like he would need her help in finding the culprit. She felt for her phone amongst the few belongings she had kept in her handbag and decided to text Sherlock. It seemed extremely stupid, considering that he was on a case and would detest her interrupting him like that; but Molly had a completely foreign emotion overtaking her as she quickly typed a text message to Sherlock.  
_There are creeps at this party and you have already gained entry. I don't think you need me now. I'm going home. –Molly_

She thought she should wait for a reply, but her mind said otherwise. _Isn't that what you have been doing all this time, waiting for a reply? How long will you keep waiting, Molly Hooper?  
_Molly sighed and made her way to the exit. Curiosity got the best of her and she inquired at the coat check whether number 34 had taken his coat and scarf or not. The coat checker replied in the affirmative. "He had left about fifteen minutes ago, madam." he replied, then looked at Molly pityingly. She smiled and thanked the coat checker, before leaving.  
_Did she really not expect that to happen? _Molly questioned herself. The coat checker must be thinking that she had been abandoned by a date. It wasn't truly false, except Sherlock wasn't her date.  
She went out of the club and looked around. If she could at least spot Greg or his surveillance van she could accompany him, or if she spotted John she could ask him about Sherlock's whereabouts, provided that he knew. _Of course he would know Molly; he is Dr. John Watson, the consulting detective's best friend. You're just plain little Molly Hooper, who doesn't count. _  
However, the streets were deserted save for a few cabs racing past the street. The club was known for its discreet location and the gentry that it tended, and so she found it devoid of most traffic. She tried to hail a taxi, but none would stop for her. Ultimately, she decided to walk until she reached the nearest Tube station. Molly felt a tad bit uncomfortable in her clothes, as she walked down the road, but felt it best to go home as soon as she could manage.

The air was cold and Molly wrapped her thin shawl tightly around herself. She had called Marie a few minutes back, informing her of her surprisingly early return and had been walking for the past ten minutes. She hadn't reached very far from the club, but she was still thankful for the comfortable sandals she had decided to wear for that night, although she missed her simple and convenient flats.  
The sky was clear and she hoped for a sunny day tomorrow; that's the least she could hope after her holiday had been occupied by getting ready for a subsequent case and then returning home all by herself. While she didn't mind her job, she liked the few days off she got, spending time sitting at home and playing with Tobias, or watching the telly. Sometimes she would go to a pub for an occasional drink, but that was not so common, unless she had a date, which wasn't a common occurrence either, so Molly usually found herself home with Tobias and the telly. She didn't mind those lazy days so much. What she did mind was the way she felt her day had been wasted. Ever since Sherlock had called her to his apartment her mind had been at frenzy, imagining the different scenarios she would encounter while on a case with him. She had heard of the many different and crazy cases Sherlock and John had gone to; nobody would blame her for thinking that she might be a part of it. She supposed that her job was done, that the duo didn't need her anymore. Still, a little message from them would've been nice.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the steady sound of footsteps behind her. Molly realized with a dawning horror that the footsteps had been around her ever since she had left the club, she had just chosen to ignore them, rationalizing them to be footsteps of people walking around. But she had taken a short route, cutting through an alleyway to get to the station quickly, and realized that the footsteps had been trailing her all along. She wanted to cry out but knew that it would be futile; she was amongst abandoned buildings and it would be highly unlikely that anyone would be around to help her. She gulped and she thought of the various ways she could escape. If this were a mugging, she could throw her belongings to one side and then run the other way. She had been taught these basic survival skills by her father when she had been a teenager and she knew exactly what she had to do. She knew to kick in the groin and to pull at the man's hair if she could. Molly didn't know what to do in this case; she knew taking out her phone would only serve as a distraction for her and the stalker would overpower her in her distracted state. She knew she had to take one step at a time and Molly cleared her head, trying not to over react, before making up her mind.

She broke into a run, running out of the alleyway and into a nearby vacant warehouse. The warehouse was being demolished and there was nothing other than some cemented pillars and rubble. All she needed to do was to hide until she was able to notify the police about her location; she needed to find a good hiding place. The footsteps had increased as she had started running and Molly knew better than to turn and try and look at her pursuer while running. She felt a blister forming on her heel and she had nearly twisted her ankle. Running in heeled sandals, no matter how low, was extremely dangerous but she had persevered. She kept running until she found a pile of rubble, where she crouched and tried to control her breathing. She could hear heavy footsteps rummaging near the rubble before a voice spoke up.  
"Come on beautiful, I saw you get in here. We won't hurt you; we just want to ask you a few questions."  
Molly recognized the slightly nasal tone of the red-headed man from the club. She felt her blood turn cold; the men weren't simply bothering her then─ they had a purpose, and they were here to get her. _Damnit, this is not the way she wanted to get involved in the case. _  
"Come out of your hiding place, butterfly, we just want to know where your boyfriend is. We will let you go then." She recognised the other brown-haired man's voice from the club and tried to hold her breath as the two men approached the rubble she was hiding behind. There was no light illuminating the warehouse, which was the only advantage she had. She heard footsteps approaching nearer to her and Molly tried to hold in the whimper which was threatening to escape her mouth.

"Come on Mac, I don't think she is around here. Maybe she ran away to the other side of the warehouse, we should check there." The red-head spoke up, and the other man, Mac, sighed in response.  
"I thought she was wearing heels, so she would eventually trip. You've got the torch haven't you Cecil?"  
'Yeah, let's go." She heard the footsteps retreating and felt her heart calm down. Now all she needed to do was to call the police and get the hell out of there. However, before she could do so, her phone dinged loudly in her handbag, the sound resounding throughout the empty and quiet warehouse. She had disabled alerts for all contacts, except Sherlock's so she knew he had texted her. She heard the two men stop in their tracks and knew that she had no other option except to make a dash for it.  
She got up and started running out of the warehouse, not bothering to pick up her shawl or her handbag from the floor.

Molly ran as fast as she could, and she felt a burning sensation shoot up one of her legs as she slowed down due to the impact of the sprain. But she willed herself to run somehow and managed to pick up speed again. She shouted for help loudly, when she saw a car approaching the road she began to wave her hands wildly, in hopes that the car would notice her plight. She shouldn't have been so naive; she slowed down so the men were able to catch up to her. Mac held her tight as his companion Cecil injected her with an unknown drug. The car stopped and the driver helped the men put her now-limp body in the backseat. Molly found herself slipping into unconsciousness as she lay in the backseat, wanting to run away but unable to do so. 


	4. IV

IV

[**CAUTION****: **This chapter contains some foul language and suggestive graphic scenes-you have been warned.]

There was a bright light shining directly in her face, and Molly stirred, trying to cover her face from the light. She found her wrists tied to a pole, and her legs tied at the ankles. Her dress was ripped and she tried to move her hands but the rope only cut into her skin deeper. Tears appeared in her eyes and she thought of her father and her mother, and everyone she loved. She thought more despairing thoughts in her agony, before snapping herself out of it. She needed to get out of here, and fast. Looking around her, she realized she was in a warehouse. There was a distinct smell of rotten fish and she wondered which dock she was at. She saw a single solitary bulb shining right above her, before hearing footsteps approaching her side.  
One of her kidnappers, the one named Cecil, stepped out from behind one of the storage boxes. He was carrying a Styrofoam plate and Molly could make out a lumpy form sitting on top of the plate. Her stomach grumbled and she wondered how long she had been locked up in here. The last thing she remembered was an injection being inserted in her arm, before she lost consciousness. She figured that the kidnappers had been cooking fish and that is where the smell had come from. She looked away as Cecil grinned at her, before pulling a stool and sitting on top of it.

"So, awake now eh? You look famished, want something to eat?" He smiled and began to eat his fish slowly. Molly was never a fan of seafood, but in her current state she found her stomach grumbling louder, and her mouth was parched.  
"How long have I been here?" She asked, her voice cracking a little and she winced. Her wrists hurt, along with the cut on her cheek and her feet. She feared she might have fractured her foot and that she might be bleeding profusely.  
"Ah, ah, I'll do the questioning here honey." Cecil replied, simultaneously chewing on his fish. Molly couldn't remove her eyes from the fish; how long _had _she been in here?  
"Now you shouldn't have hidden from us you know, all you had to do was answer us and we would've let you go." He shook his head, taking a swig from a bottle she assumed contained water.  
Molly knew he was trying to break her by offering the temptation of food and water, and the false perception that they would let her go after that. Molly knew that wasn't true; they wouldn't go through all the trouble of kidnapping her, only to ask a few questions then let her go.  
"Now sweets, I'm going to ask you question; and you better answer them, if you want to ever see your boyfriend again." Cecil sneered, putting away the plate and leaning forward so that his face was inches from hers. Molly turned her head, and she felt his fingers grab her chin before he turned her to face him again.  
"Why were you and your boyfriend at the club tonight?"  
"He is not my boyfriend." Molly managed to choke out, before she was slapped by Cecil.  
"Answer my question, bitch!" He screamed, and Molly felt tears accumulate in her eyes before looking at her kidnapper.  
"We went because there was free food being served."  
She felt another slap before Cecil stepped back and walked out of the confinement. Molly heard scuffling and some muffled sounds of talking, before hearing footsteps approaching towards her.  
Her other kidnapper, Mac, entered. Molly saw something glint in his hands and realized with a dawning horror that he was carrying a knife.

"Now listen here, lady. All we need to know is why your boyfriend was in there and why he was trailing General MacManus. We know the police was there too; we saw you with that hick inspector, Lestrade." Mac said, before coming close to her and holding the flick knife at her throat.  
"Boss doesn't care about you; all he wants is that bloody hound of a detective off of the investigation. So we won't blink twice before killing you right here and leaving your body to rot." He pressed the tip of the knife and put pressure on it, so it dug into her skin. He dragged it a bit across her cheek before removing the knife, and Molly felt the blood trickle down her cheek onto her shoulder.  
"So if you want to live, call Sherlock Holmes and tell him to go home, and to leave the murder investigation alone."  
"You are working for General MacManus?" Molly asked, baffled. She didn't know that the retired General was involved in the whole affair. But why would he want to murder an American cartel owner?

"We don't work for MacManus, sweetie. We work for our boss. And MacManus works for our boss too. Imagine that!" Cecil spoke up. Molly saw him standing behind Mac, holding a liquor bottle in his hands. By his gait she could sense that he was drunk. "Pompous pretentious MacManus is no better 'n me."  
"Cecil you idiot, you aren't supposed to drink on the job. Now sit down and shut your mouth." Mac said, pointing his knife towards an empty box kept overturned.  
"Don't boss me around Mac, or I'll cut your throat open." Cecil put his bottle away and took out a knife from his pocket. "You're not the only one with a knife in here, Mac."  
"Calm down Cecil, you don't want blood on your hands. Boss won't like it if you do anything that wasn't on the plan." Mac warned him before thrusting a phone in front of Molly.  
"I am going to untie your hands, and you will do nothing suspicious; dial Holmes' number and tell him to go back to his apartment, and to give up the investigation, if he wants to see you alive again. No foul play; if you dial the police or any other number, it will take me less than a minute to cut your throat and let you bleed." The knife glinted in his hands and Molly felt her blood freeze at the sight of the dangerous weapon that had so easily cut the skin of her cheeks a few minutes ago.  
"Then your body will be a powerful enough signal for the detective to give up the investigation.  
"Mac, let's just kill her already and call up the boyfriend, so that he can see the body for himself and call off the investigation. What's the point in delaying the inevitable?" Cecil spoke, getting up from his seat and squatting next to Molly. He ran a hand up her side and Molly wriggled with disgust.  
"Step away from me, creep!" She shrieked and moved away from him, as much as her confinement could allow.  
"Cecil! Step away from her for God's sake. Let her call the detective then you can do all you want. Don't botch up the fucking job." Mac pushed his companion off his stool and Cecil almost fell, before holding onto one of the boxes nearby. He got up and pushed Mac and they broke out into a fight, both punching each other and screaming.

Had Molly not been the one being kidnapped, or if this were a TV show, she would've marvelled at how unprofessional and completely stupid these two _kidnappers _and possible members of a criminal organisation were being. But her wrists hurt and she was feeling weak from the deprivation of water and food. Molly had little to no willpower left, and knew that she wouldn't be able to fight back, if the creep Cecil decided to do something to her. She cried softly as the men crashed and banged against the boxes, knocking a few down before Mac caught Cecil by the collar and threw him to one side.  
"If you were not my mate I'd have killed you by now. Don't you dare move now" Mac wiped some blood off of his lips and proceeded to pick up his mobile phone. Before he could give it to Molly, there was a loud crash that resounded throughout the warehouse.  
"This is just great, someone broke in. Probably a homeless looking for a place to sleep; I'll go deal with this. You keep a watch on the girly." Mac said as he ran towards the source of the noise.

"Guess it's just you and me, huh baby?" Cecil said before pressing himself near to her and cupping her face.  
"Please." Her resolve had been drained; she was thirsty, bleeding, her foot possibly fractured, and she wasn't sure when she would see Toby again. It seemed like a terrible nightmare yet it was all true, and Molly was tired, tired of it all. She stopped hoping for Sherlock or anyone to come; she stopped hoping about an escape from this. All she could do was turn her head away from the man who smelled distinctly like sweat and rotten fish, tears escaping her eyes.  
Cecil grabbed her waist, and pressed his lips against her neck and Molly cried even harder.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Cecil was ripped from her side and she felt, rather than saw, his body being banged repeatedly against the wall beside her. Looking up, she saw Sherlock hold Cecil by his throat, throttling the man. There was craziness in his eyes and Molly saw the raw anger displayed on his face. She saw John enter the scene and he ran by her side, untying her wrists and her ankles.  
"Good God Molly, your wrists have been bleeding profusely." He held her and helped her get up, before handing her over to some paramedics who had entered the scene.  
"Sherlock, that's enough." John held back the detective, who was still staring with seething fury at Cecil, who was reduced to a bleeding bag of bones.  
"Yeah Sherlock, step away, if something happens to the man I may have to pull you up for assault." Lestrade said, entering and handcuffing Cecil before handing him over to a paramedic.  
"I didn't _assault _him; he was there with Molly and..." Sherlock clenched his fists before walking out of the scene past Cecil.  
"Boss won't leave you, you know. He will kill you and then get me your girlfriend." Cecil called out, sneering in his direction. Sherlock turned and looked at him. His face looked calm on the outside, but he was still seething with anger. "We have captured your 'boss'; he is in confinement for homicide and kidnapping charges. Not so cocky now are we?" He smirked before walking out. Cecil sputtered before being led to a cop car outside. Mac was sitting inside of it, and they were driven to the Yard.

Molly sat in the ambulance, a paramedic fixing the cuts on her cheek and her wrists. A bright orange blanket was wrapped around her and she clutched a cup of warm water that warmed her insides, as she tried to forget the horrible hours inside the confinement. One of the paramedics had given her a nutrition bar but she didn't feel like having anything at that moment. She saw John come out of the building; he made his way towards Molly and gave her the handbag and the shawl she had abandoned in the warehouse.  
"We found this in the warehouse where you had been kidnapped." He said and Molly thanked him, before taking out her mobile phone and unlocking it. She saw four calls from Marie, two from John, and one from Sherlock, along with many text messages ranging from concerned ones from Marie to inquiring ones from John and Lestrade. Then she opened the texts sent by Sherlock.

_Don't leave the party Molly. –SH  
Text me your location. –SH  
Your neighbour is worried. Call her. –SH  
Molly? –SH_

And that had been the last text sent to her, in the five minute span she had tried to escape from the warehouse. There was one call from him after that, and then nothing. He must have figured out what had happened [_he was Sherlock Holmes; of course he figured it out._]. Molly realized that by leaving the party she had not only gotten herself kidnapped but also possibly ruined the investigation.  
"John, were they able to catch the person responsible?"  
"Yes; the MP, Edward Collins' best friend and his campaign manager, Jonathan Buchanan, was the mind behind this. There was some bad blood between them and so to extract revenge he took the help of some cartels who also wanted the drug lord killed. His aim was to ruin the MP's political career and land him in jail and consequently gain the support of international drug business men." John explained, and Molly sighed.  
"I suppose many prominent political leaders were also involved in this?"  
"Nobody really liked Edward Collins; not amongst the political class anyway. He had quite a lot of enemies, including General MacManus. That's who we were trailing; he had a meeting scheduled with Buchanan to decide the affair. That's whom Sherlock was shadowing." John replied, before checking his watch. "And it's quite late now; come, I'll leave you home."  
"Didn't you have a date tonight?" Molly asked and John nodded.  
"Not much time for a date when you are out, involved in political scandals and solving crimes. But it's alright; Emily can wait a bit longer. I'll drop you home."  
Molly was about to refuse once again, when she heard _him _clear his throat.  
"It's okay John, I can escort Molly to her home. You can go to your latest girlfriend, whosoever she is." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. Molly saw John roll is eyes and she tried to suppress a giggle, which ended up escaping her lips anyway. John laughed a bit with her while Sherlock looked at them, puzzled, before sitting beside Molly on the other side of the ambulance.  
"Well, I'll leave now. I think I'll call Emily first." John fished in his trouser pockets for his phone.  
"She won't pick up your call." Sherlock said, deadpanned.  
"Yes she will."  
"No she won't."  
John looked exasperatedly at his flatmate, before giving a polite smile to Molly and walking away.

Sherlock looked at Molly once, looking away before she could catch his eye. Molly sighed and wrapped her blanker tighter around her shoulders. Sherlock promptly got up and took off his Belstaff and scarf, handing it to her. She tried to protest but he firmly gave it to her, sitting down beside her again. Molly took the coat and wore it gratefully, before wrapping his scarf around her neck. She felt warmth seeping in and felt her eyelids droop. It had been a long, tiring day, and all Molly wanted to do was to get in her warm bed and sleep the fatigue and the pain away.  
"Molly, I want to..." Sherlock started and Molly looked at him. He looked visibly uncomfortable and was looking at the commotion around him, before turning to her once again. "I want to apologize for this."  
"It isn't your fault Sherlock. I was the one who left the party, even though you asked me not to." Not that she had been able to read his text; it had arrived a tad bit too late. Even then Molly wasn't sure she would've followed his advice, feeling the way she had been at that moment.  
"No, had you stayed at the club it wouldn't have mattered; the blokes were at the club and they were there with a purpose." He sighed and looked down at the ground. "I shouldn't have involved you in this at all. I am sorry." He looked at her and Molly felt as though her insides were melting; because, even if for a fraction of a second, Sherlock's eyes softened. Molly smiled and put her hand on top of his; it was a bold move for Molly, but she didn't think twice before doing it. And he didn't pull away for some time, before getting up and holding out his hand for her. "Let's get you home now." 

[A/N I hope Sherlock wasn't OOC in this one. I don't know, I may have slipped a bit in writing him. Leave a reply if you guys liked it, or even if you didn't. I will probably end the story in the next chapter, it isn't a very long fic. Thank you for all the reviews and the favourites!]


	5. V

V

The wind whipped Molly's now ruined curls all about her face, and in the confusion she tried to catch hold of her handbag, before it fell onto the pavement, scattering most of her assorted items all over it.  
"Damnit" She muttered, trying to pick up the various items rolling about, when a sharp pain shot through her leg and she leaned against the police car standing nearby. Sherlock had to go talk to Greg regarding a few details of the kidnapping scene, and he had asked her to wait until he got a cab. She thought she would go stand near the street so that it would be convenient for him to fetch a taxi, but now her handbag's contents were rolling about, most of them Marie's makeup assortments, and she could do nothing but lean against the car and hope for the pain to subside.  
"I'll help you with it." Sherlock said, standing behind her before picking up her items. He had done this sort of stuff before to her; entering the lab without making a sound and she would almost always get startled to see him pull a stool and start examining something under the microscope; or to demand a body part for any of his innumerable experiments. Molly smiled slightly and thanked him, before getting into a taxi that had stopped near them. She was mildly surprised to see Sherlock get in from the other side, but the strain and shock of the day had drained most of her energy and she sank back into the taxi seat, her eyes drooping. Although she tried to be inconspicuous about it, she secretly could smell the slightly musky smell, _his _smell, and it emanated into her senses, enveloping her around him and she felt happy from the inside, despite the evening's events. In her heart of hearts she knew that this would be the closest she could ever get to him, but she immersed herself in the joy of the moment instead of concentrating on the aftermath. She knew she was truly, deeply and madly addicted; there would be no point in denying it. And she knew that she didn't matter in his eyes. But the moment was stationary and beautiful and she was going home with Sherlock by her side, wearing his coat and scarf after being rescued by him; nobody could prosecute her for letting her imagination run wild.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sherlock looking out of the window in his signature contemplative mood. The air was slightly nipped and she saw him roll up the window and rest his forehead against the glass. His eyes, those colour-changing enigmas closed for the fraction of a second and she saw him clench his fists. That's when she noticed the bandages around his right knuckles and realized the absolute brute force he had used to beat up Cecil. Molly almost reached out and held his hand, but stopped herself instinctively. There had been the moment back in the ambulance when she had done that and he hadn't removed his hand, but that moment had passed and all she saw in the confines of her mind were flitting images of the Christmas party, him recognizing _that woman's _identity from her body, the various speculations, him and John...and she sighed. She didn't know what went on in the great detective's head; nobody did. Anything was possible, and she wasn't going to ruin the slightly friendly demeanour that he seemed to have adopted around her ever since that dreaded Christmas party. She fumbled with his scarf before taking it off and keeping it in his hands. Sherlock's eyes shot open and he looked at Molly quizzically. She smiled and put the scarf firmly in his hands.  
"It's cold outside, and I already have your coat. I don't need this."  
He nodded once and wrapped the scarf around his gracefully long and pale neck, before turning back to the window. He seemed to be deep in thought and Molly remembered the countless times she had tried to talk to him, before he brushed her off with some ugly retort of his. But the air was chilled and they were alone; John was out and it was a long way until they reached home. In such an environment Molly was feeling delirious and she ventured to talk to the detective. Who knew when she would get such an opportunity?  
"So, I talked to one of the paramedics. Nice doctor, very friendly." She said, and saw his reflection twitch his eyebrows before he turned to her. She expected something along the lines of 'Molly I am trying to think, so it would be terribly kind of you to keep your mouth shut' but all he did was look at her with those mesmerizing eyes of his and comment, "And he asked you out for a coffee? The only paramedic I saw who you could go out with seemed like a shifty sort, and I saw him looking at his partner's backside far too often for it to be a mere coincidence. Unless you went for one of the married ones which would just be a shame because it is not like any of them are going to leave their wives to run away with you, they will use you probably as a ruse to fix their own marriage and so I would suggest you call him up and cancel this coffee date of yours before you end up spending yet another Saturday night watching telly with your cat."  
Molly tried to interrupt but he wouldn't stop, and she just leaned back and listened to his words, spewing out of his mouth like acid.  
"Of course, you want to counter argue. Well its quite a surprise you didn't notice the glaringly visible wedding ring on the red-headed one, although I don't think he attended to you, so that narrows down three other doctors. The 'nice' looking one with the thick glasses, he had taken off his ring but there was a bulge in his shirt pocket, something that resembled a wedding ring, but if you want to put that aside he got a phone call and he went aside to answer it and of the few snippets I heard it mostly consisted of 'Yes I will be home in an hour or so I have to over time so don't worry Lindsey'. Or was it Leanne? Anyway, that is not important so even if it isn't a wife it is most likely a fiancée. Of course those tan lines on his ring finger made it quite obvious. That leaves us with two more doctors, and they were obviously having a relationship with each other, didn't you see them hold hands and walk down to the alleyway? A comforting sign of empathy, you might argue but really how often do you see two non-romantically aligned grown men hold hands for longer than ten seconds in an apparent sign of empathy? Really, Molly, you should avoid any future attempts at a relationship." Sherlock stopped abruptly when he saw Molly laughing silently, her eyes on the verge of tears.  
"Did I say something funny? I don't think so, Molly, then why-"  
'Oh Sherlock, are you always in such a hurry?" She managed to gasp out, while trying to battle with her laughter that wouldn't stop, it seemed. He just looked at her, his eyebrows knitted firmly on his forehead before she took a deep breath and looked at him.  
"All that deduction of yours was unnecessary, you know; if only you would let me finish. As I was saying, I was talking to a paramedic, and _she _told me," Sherlock sighed deeply and she could see he looked deeply embarrassed. The tips of his ears turned slightly red and she found herself sighing internally at the cute reaction she was witnessing, before continuing. "She told me that the redhead kidnapper, Cecil; you know that redhead you banged up so badly?" She looked at him and found him staring out the window again, his hands in tight fists. Molly wondered if he was listening to her, but she decided to continue. "He broke two ribs, his nose, and has an injury on his head from getting repeatedly banged up against the wall. "  
"Cecil; so that's his name." Was all she heard from him for a short while, and she decided to stop. It didn't seem like he was paying attention; but it was nagging her and she needed to find out.

"I didn't get any time to talk to Greg, so I don't know what they will do about those injuries."  
"Oh I don't know Molly, what would you do with a kidnapper caught red handed?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, and it was those rare moments he used it comically, and she giggled a bit before composing herself.  
"Seriously though, Sherlock; what if they arrest you?"  
"Me? Why would they arrest me? I wasn't abusing you, or had you tied up and deprived you of food and water and..." His shoulder tensed and Molly saw him grip the handle of the cab tightly.  
"Right, of course." She sighed and looked out the window herself. Her eyes closed and Molly slept the rest of the way to her house, missing the small and fleeting glances the consulting detective would throw her way before looking away and pretending to be deep in thought.

Molly felt herself being carried but decided to not pay attention. She sighed contently as she was put into a soft bed, a blanket being draped over her. She heard a door open and heard some muffled talking, before a loud clanging noise interrupted her blissful sleep and she bolted straight up in her bed. The sound was only a small flowerpot being knocked off of a table, but her subconscious had interpreted it as boxes falling and images of her in the warehouse, and the two kidnappers looming over her distressed her for a few seconds but registering her surroundings, she calmed down. She got up from the bed, trying to balance herself with her injured leg, but ended up stepping down the wrong way and a sharp pain shot up her leg. She cried out lightly, and felt footsteps approach her bedroom door before it was thrown open. Sherlock's looming figure stood in the doorway, his eyes flitting around the room in abject concentration, before zooming in on her face.  
"Molly! You shouldn't have gotten up. Wait, let me help you." Ignoring her feeble attempts at protest, he effortlessly helped her to her feet, holding her up and wrapping a long arm around her waist. Molly wrapper her arm around his back [_he was far too tall for her to try to reach up to his neck_] and despite the pain in her leg, Molly's heart and hormones were in a frenzy. Her breath was shallow and she took deep breaths before feeling her heartbeat calm down.  
"Sit down. I am guessing the flowerpot was what alerted you. Don't worry; it didn't shatter, although it does make an awful lot of noise." Sherlock said, before darting in the kitchen and coming back with a tumbler filled with lukewarm water. Molly, still in a bit of a shock, took the water from him wordlessly and sipped it.  
"Baffled? Well, I do know how to take care of injured people; I have nursed my mother a few times in my youth." Sherlock smiled slightly before sitting down on the couch beside her.  
"I thought you would've left."  
"And leave you all alone in the apartment in this condition? I am not completely daft, Molly, no matter what John says." He rolled his eyes and Molly laughed. She saw Toby climb one of the side tables and Sherlock saw her gaze before promptly informing her of Marie's visit, and how she dropped off Toby after continuous laments about Molly's well being. Molly smiled at her neighbour's kind, albeit exaggerated, concern and plucked the corner of the ruined dress. She made a mental note of compensating Marie for the ruined dress, although she knew she would refuse profusely.

"I suppose you want to change. I'll help you to the dressing room." Sherlock got up and helped her to her feet. She smiled but stepped back from him.  
"I am not handicapped Sherlock; I _can _walk by myself."  
Sherlock looked at her before looking down at her legs. Molly blushed slightly and tried to control her [_highly imaginative_] thoughts.  
"You are still wearing those damned sandals. " He suddenly got down to one knee. "Allow me to help you out of these."  
Molly sputtered before grasping his shoulders as he undid a clasp of the sandal and took it off of her; before proceeding to the other one and doing the same. For those small moments Molly thought about Cinderella and her shoe and her mind filled with images of princes and princesses, except all of the faces of the story book princes were replaced with endearing blue-green eyes and sharp cheekbones. She blushed and cleared her mind, before stepping back and thanking him while he got up.  
"Of course. Would you like some tea?"  
"I beg your pardon?" Molly had never contemplated that she would be standing in her living room, and Sherlock Holmes would offer her tea. At three a.m. in the morning.  
"I take your silence as a yes. Now off you go, and let me know if you want some help."  
"You won't know where the tea and sugar is kept." She said and could almost see the smug smile on his face.  
"Of course I will."

Molly stood in the middle of her bedroom, the door bolted firmly shut. She looked at her pyjamas and felt herself burn up with embarrassment. Rummaging through her clothes she had hoped against hope that she had something that wasn't simple or in any way embarrassing. She thought about the sort of exotic and sexy women he must be coming across during his escapades with the good doctor. _None of them would wear a pink coloured tee-shirt saying 'Forever an Ailurophile' for bed. _ After resigning to the cruel fate that she didn't own any silk nightgown that she could don on, she had taken out a baby pink loose tee shirt with a pair of plain white pyjamas. But her troubles were hardly over; the dress she had worn for the evening had a zipper in the back, and Molly was currently trying to zip down the dress with no success. She looked towards the closed door and contemplated on calling _him _for help. Her mind filled with images from romantic movies and books, where the heroine called her lover to help her out of the dress, and such encounters almost always ended in hot, make out sessions between the two people. She argued with herself with the pros and cons of calling in Sherlock to help her undo her dress, and she saw herself standing there, her back bare as he traced his long, graceful hands over her skin and Molly closed her eyes, the fantasy taking over and making her spine tingle.  
_Snap out of it. _Her mind chastised her and Molly sighed, struggling with the zipper before managing to zip it all the way down and tug the dress off of her, getting into her plainer and much more comfortable pyjamas.

Molly opened the door and almost collided with the tall, looming form standing outside of it.  
"Ah Molly, I was just about to knock. Tea's almost ready, and I was wondering why it was taking you so long to change."  
"No you weren't."  
"Well, yes. It was the zipper, _obviously._" He smiled and headed down to her living, with Molly hobbling and following him. She sped up, and had almost reached his side before he stopped and turned abruptly, a question on the tip of his tongue. However, before Molly could stop her hobbling, she collided into his chest and Sherlock caught hold of her shoulders as they stared at each other, her eyes surprised and slightly frightened; his intense.  
Molly caught her breath in her throat and felt time stop, as she stared into his ever changing eyes, now a bright blue colour. A shrill whistle brought her to her senses and Sherlock stepped away, muttering "And there's the tea." before walking away speedily to the kitchen.

Molly's heart rate had flown off the charts and she somehow managed to collect her jumbled thoughts and hobble over to the living room. Sherlock brought out the tea and they both drank the concoction in silence, Toby sitting on her lap as Molly stole furtive glances at the detective, who seemed to be in deep thought yet again.  
They finished tea and he got up, cleaning the coffee table and putting the ceramics in the kitchen, before donning his scarf and coat.  
"Well, I better be off. I don't think John is going to come home tonight, or should I say this morning. He shouldn't really waste his time with that girl." Sherlock said, his voice a bit strained.  
"Right now? But will you be able to find a taxi cab at this preposterous hour?"  
"I was desperate, and called up one of those twenty-four hour services; their taxi just pulled in the driveway." And sure enough, her doorbell rang and a muffled voice declared "Taxi for Sherlock Holmes!"  
Sherlock adjusted his scarf, and then looked at Molly. She felt as though he wanted to say something but he just smiled a bit and proceeded to open the door and step out.  
"See you at Barts soon, Molly." He said before getting in the taxi and speeding away from her apartment.

Molly went and sat at her bay window, looking out at the London skyline that was lightly tinged with hues of pink and orange. She had been exhausted, but couldn't sleep. She had a steaming cup of tea which she sipped and closed her eyes, the pain in her body slowly and gradually subsiding. The sky looked peaceful as a single solitary bird flew up in the sky, and Molly thought about the previous night's events. Her night, when she got involved in one of the cases and nearly got herself killed. The calm sky seemed like the calm before a storm, but she didn't let herself worry about that, because she knew that he would be there, sneaking in her lab and persuading her to let him view a body, or to borrow an eyeball for one of his crazy experiments, to comment on the peculiar ways of man and to use his overly brilliant mind to solve seemingly unsolvable crimes. And she would always be there, willing to do anything he wanted.

_**The End**_

_[__**A/N **__Thank you everyone who read reviewed and liked this story! As an aspiring fan fiction author I am extremely grateful for all the kind words that you all have written for this story. I would like to apologize for the slightly delayed post, since my examinations are on and I should be studying instead of writing, but I really cannot resist. More fan fiction will be posted after the 7__th__ of April! Honestly I have so many ideas, I want to just start writing right now, but I digress. Anyway! Again, thanks a lot. You guys are the best! Oh and do leave a review about your thoughts on the chapter, or the story in general?}_


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